


Night Shift

by NachoDiablo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coffee, Diners, F/F, Fleur is a Siren, Magical Creatures, Pining, Sirens, or is she?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo
Summary: Written for theFlonks Festprompt: “Diner AU: Server pining over the regular customer.” This also fills theHP Femslash Minifestprompt, “Magical Creatures.”





	Night Shift

She doesn’t make an appearance every evening, but every time she does, Tonks notices.

Tonks is used to the eclectic clientele at the diner where she’s been waiting tables for the last three months.  _ Keep Santa Cruz Weird _ is plastered on every bumper sticker in town, and nowhere is that more evident than at a shore town diner at three in the morning on a Tuesday in August.

Tonks arrived in Santa Cruz three months ago. The quirky California beach town was the latest stop in her quest to find some adventure after seven years of repetition at school. The town’s laid back blending of wizard and Muggle culture had charmed her, and she’d stuck around longer than originally planned. She’d picked up a part time job to pay the bills. The diner hosts a healthy mix of locals looking for a quick meal and some gossip, and tourists soaking up the surfside vibes.

What with the mix of semi-incognito witches, wizards, magical creatures, along with the Muggles who often out-weird the lot of them, it takes a lot to grab Tonks’ attention. The blonde woman who sits in the back corner booth is _ a lot. _

She and Tonks don’t speak much, but she is always gracious when Tonks brings her the black coffee that she no longer needs to order, seeing as she’s become a regular. Occasionally, she will inquire as to how Tonks’ shift is going, and Tonks will stammer out some stale version of  _ alright. _

It’s not anything overt, really. It’s the little details that somehow knit together to make a big impact. Her dresses are always modest, but finely made. Her cornsilk hair and heart shaped face are always framed in an impeccably pinned headscarf. Her posture is always regal, yet relaxed. Her smile is formal, but her eyes sparkle with mischief.

Brandon, Tonks’ burnout coworker, insists that it’s not that complicated. “She’s hot,” he says with a roll of his eyes every time he catches Tonks staring. “Like,  _ really _ hot. You can lay off pretending like it’s anything deeper than that.”

Tonks always scowls and flips a balled up napkin at his face. Brandon can parrot back the latest surfing weather report, but other than that, he’s useless.

Other people notice the mysterious woman as well. Tonks catches a good number of patrons eyeing up the aloof blonde in the corner booth. They seldom speak to her, seemingly content to blush and gawk as they wait for their grilled cheese and fries.

Every so often, however, someone gathers their courage and attempts to engage with her. Generally, it is a grown man who’s come in alone. The man will flash an attempt at a winning grin and hover by her table. A select brave few will slide into the booth across from her.

Eventually, they all leave. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the woman accompanying them. The ones who leave with her by their side always wear the same dazed expression as she guides them out the door. The woman always throws Tonks a conspiratorial smirk as she exits on these occasions, and there’s always an extra generous tip tucked beneath her empty mug.

She’d mentioned offhand one evening that she was part Veela. That hadn’t been a surprise. But Veela are temperamental, fiery. The blonde woman is not that. She isn’t fire; she is smouldering embers that lull you into thinking they are safe to touch.

Tonight, the diner is dead, which is unusual. A gaggle of giggling Muggle teens are swapping gossip around a plate of cheese fries, and a tired cashier just off the night shift at Safeway is spooning clam chowder mindlessly into his mouth, but that’s it. 

Tonks dumps fresh coffee grounds into the filter and starts up the machine. A burst of cool ocean air pricks the back of her neck, and she turns to see the blonde woman breeze in through the door.

The blonde woman smiles and nods towards the coffee machine. “Did you know I was coming?” Her teeth are dizzyingly white against the deep red of her lips.

A nervous laugh slips from Tonks’ lips as she shrugs. “Looks like it, I suppose.”

The blonde doesn’t blink as she holds Tonks’ gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then heads to her usual table. Tonks sighs and wills the coffee to drip faster.

“I’ve figured it out.” Brandon leans against the counter with his arms folded. “I know what she is.”

“Oh, good,” Tonks hisses. “Why don’t you say it a bit louder so she can hear you?”

Brandon’s face pales a bit under his suntan. He glances over his shoulder, then sidles closer to Tonks.

“She’s not human.”

Tonks narrows her eyes. “Yes, she is. Having a dash of Veela doesn’t negate her humanity.”

“Chill, dude.” Brandon holds up one hand. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that she’s a Siren.”

“What?” Tonks frowns. “That’s bollocks.” The blonde woman could not possibly be a Siren. Sirens were dangerous. They kept to themselves, hidden in the mist and fated to sing their sad songs to lure even sadder sailors to their doom.

Sirens didn’t smile the way the blonde woman did. They didn’t have that spark of joy that Tonks longed to know more of.

“Doesn’t  _ bollocks _ mean  _ balls?” _

“It  _ means _ it’s crap!” Tonks snaps. “She’s not a Siren.”

“She’s a gorgeous chick who lures dumbass dudes out to the beach, never to be seen again,” Brandon insists. “Remember Joe?”

Tonks wrinkles her nose. “The old creeper who kept asking me over to his place to smoke and listen to his guitar solos?”

“That’s the one,” Brandon nods. “You’re right. Total creeper. But have you seen him around lately?”

“Well, no,” Tonks admits, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Condescension etches the lines of Brandon’s face as he shakes his head. “Believe what you want, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m a dumbass, but I’m an  _ aware _ dumbass, okay? Her table’s all yours tonight. I’m not getting dragged out into the ocean to drown.” 

“Fine,” Tonks says with a careless shrug of her shoulders. “I’m not bothered.”

“Good. Because she’s clearly already singled you out for the evening.”

“Huh?”

Brandon rolls his eyes again, like he knows shit. “She came in right when you brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and she flirted with you before she even sat down. She’s never done that before. You would have flailed about it to me. Face it,” he says with a smirk, “she’s got her claws in you. Doom.”

Tonks flashes Brandon the vee, which he mistakes for a peace sign as always, and stalks over to the back corner booth, steaming mug of coffee in hand. 

She takes a deep breath as she sets the mug down. “Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”

“Maybe.” The blonde’s eyes flash as a slow smile spreads across her face. “I could use some company, if you have the time.”

Tonks’ jaw drops, and the woman adds smoothly, “I noticed that you are not very busy this evening. Surely your coworker can handle things while we share a coffee.”

“I…” Tonks takes a deep gulp of air, then slides into the bench across from the woman. She rests her elbows on the table and leans forward conspiratorially. “What are you?”

The woman seems amused. “I am a great many things,” she replies. “You know a few of them already. What is it that you are asking about, specifically?”

Tonks presses her lips together. She knows she should play it cool, try and suss out who she is dealing with. But subtlety has never been her strong suit. She leans over further and blurts out, “You’re not… are you a Siren?”

Tonks braces herself for a look of surprise, or disgust, or confusion, or even annoyance. Anything to indicate that the woman is taken aback or uncomfortable.

Instead, the woman smiles even wider. “Do you think I am?”

“I, er… I’m not sure,” Tonks stammers.

“Well,” the woman amends, “do you think it matters?”

Tonks weighs the question. She knows that Sirens are dangerous, especially once they’ve chosen their prey. But sitting here in the corner booth, with that soft smile and those sharp eyes focused on  _ her, _ and her alone, well.

It’s hard to remember what, exactly, she is supposed to be afraid of.

And maybe it  _ doesn’t _ matter. She has long since learned that the things she  _ should _ be afraid of are seldom things that mean her harm. Tonks has taken many a leap since she left school, doing things that she was told would only cause her grief, and yet she’s always come out on top.

Tonks nearly jumps out of her skin as a warm hand rests on top of her own. The blonde woman is still watching her with careful eyes.

“I mean you no harm,” she murmurs. “You might not be able to trust everything that I am, but you can trust that, I swear it.”

And of course that’s precisely what an untrustworthy person  _ would _ say, isn’t it? Yet somehow the words ring true. Tonks turns her palm so she can lace their fingers together.

“You’re right,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. And of course, I’ve got time for a cuppa.”

Joy radiates from the blonde as she lets out a breath that she’s been holding. She seems almost giddy as she gives Tonks’ hand a squeeze.

“Good,” she says evenly. “You will not regret it.”

Tonks returns the smile. She’s already got a good feeling about the rest of the evening. Maybe Brandon, the dumbass, is correct. Some things are inevitable.


End file.
